


When Our Bodies Finally Go

by orphan_account



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Romance, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 03:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3234011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Is it Jongin or Kai?” - Kyungsoo/Jongin</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Our Bodies Finally Go

**Author's Note:**

> **Author’s note:** This was written for fic exchange! You can read the original post [here](http://sooheaven.livejournal.com/26266.html). Thank you to my moms for holding my hand throughout the long brainstorming process for this fic, and for my recipient for coming up with such great prompts! I'm really sorry if I had butchered this in every way *sobs*

  
**Title:** When Our Bodies Finally Go  
 **Pairing:** Kyungsoo/Jongin, onesided!Sehun/Jongin  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Word count:** 16,000~  
 **Warnings:** Violence, language, mentions of sex, death of a minor character  
 **Summary:** “Is it Jongin or Kai?”

 

“Who is Kai?”

Jongin shrugs. Sehun has asked the question so seriously—his light brown eyes watching him in such a solemn manner he has never seen before—that Jongin feels obliged to answer.

He clears his throat. “Kai is a man with no family, no kids, living comfortably as a nefarious drug dealer can be under all the circumstances. I have to say it’s weird for you to ask me that. Why with the sudden seriousness?”

Sehun laughs, and to Jongin’s ears it seems that the other is trying to sound flippant. “Nothing. Just feeling that you’ve been under the weather lately ever since that deal with Mr. Yoshitaka flopped. You’ve been taking on a lot more and with great success, but you don’t seem satisfied.”

“You’re right. I’m not,” Jongin replies. His mouth forms an appreciative gesture as he finishes his coffee. It tastes just the way he liked it: strong, but milky and sweet. “But who is? Mr. Yoshitaka raked in five times more than all the other nut jobs we’ve dealt with in the last two weeks—who wouldn’t be disappointed when the blue fin got away, only to catch two tons of anchovy?”

Sehun cocks his head. “The Kai before would’ve settled with the anchovy, though.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” Sehun pauses, gauging Jongin’s severe expression before continuing, “You used to say, ‘any deal is a good deal; all money is good money’. But you seem a thousand times more restless these days. Is there something bothering you, Kai? Anything I can help with? I’ll do everything I can, you know.”

Jongin scratches his head, before flashing him a wry smile. If anything happened, if Jongin ever finds himself in a drastic schism between him and his henchmen, he can trust Sehun to be always by his side, unwavering. It’s both humbling and disconcerting. “It’s nothing you have to trouble yourself with. You know I’ve had my eye on Mr. Yoshitaka’s factory ever since I’ve heard about it. It’s just disappointing that I have to start from scratch again.”

“You’re good at what you do, so don’t worry about it too much.”

“Too much faith is always a bad thing, Sehun.”

Sehun purses his lips in haughty disdain. “Who said I have too much faith? Just stating the facts.”

Jongin chuckles off-handedly as the waiter, dressed in a white flannel shirt and jeans, takes out the empty coffee cups and gives each of them a glass of water. “Is this why you took me out to dinner? To soothe my worry-wart self?”

“What do you think?”

Jongin takes in the hint of a blush coloring Sehun’s high cheekbones, and Jongin reddens despite himself. “I appreciate it, Sehun,” he says quietly. “I always have.”

“That’s not what I wanted to hear, but thanks,” Sehun confesses, then laughs. “I think it’s easier for us both, like this. You told me before you haven’t gotten over your childhood friend. I guess that’s still the case.”

Jongin nods, eyes heavily trained on the drips of condensation on the glass. Tonight, Sehun is dressed in a wool sweater, with his hair styled luxuriously from the front up. He internally berates himself for being insensitive, for being an awful person to Sehun. 

Sehun then leans forward, elbows on the table. “You haven’t made any effort to contact him, though. It would be better for me at least if you did—I hate seeing you miserable, Kai.”

“He’s,” Jongin sighs. “Not going to be happy to see me. Like this, I mean.”

“Don’t you miss him?”

_I do. Terribly._ “He’s ended up on the better half of the spectrum,” Jongin explains. “The truth is he’s far better off where he is, without knowing how I turned out to be. There’s the constant danger from my Kai identity. I’ve gotten my hands too dirty for this, and I won’t make that mistake of soiling him just to make myself happy.”

“I know where you’re coming from,” Sehun mumbles to himself, before straightening up and saying, “But even through all that… he’ll like you even if you’re Kai, right? It’s still _you_ essentially. It doesn’t have to be one way or another.”

Jongin laughs flatly. “That’s the thing. He won’t.”

 

His steps are dark and virtually morose as he’s admitted past checkpoint after checkpoint in the west wing of the hotel. Jongin’s job is daunting as it is life-threatening, especially in the aftermath of the security breach by the police last month and the recent failed contract with the Japanese suppliers. Namil hadn’t been exactly happy about the setbacks.

Jongin exhales wearily. After a decade of sweeping through Seoul’s dingy streets for pot princes and narcotic addicts, Jongin has dug himself a grave deeper than the usual six-feet under. And it’s too early for him to be dead: at twenty-six, he’s the youngest dealer to have ever encroached (and consequently, destroyed) six of the eighteen local drug rings in Seoul. He’d been through the highly lucrative Xing Lao group and shook the whole cavern until it toppled over itself, a feat that no one, not even the kingpin would ever precisely know how he did it.

Jongin had endured bullet wounds, held his ground against irrational business partners, sidestepped every trap that had meant his undoing—and now, Jongin thinks as he stops at the ominous metal door to adjust the stiff collar of his shirt, he’s finally here.

“Ahh, just the man I’ve wanted to see! Please take a seat here, Kai!” Lee Namil greets, swirling his glass of champagne too hard that some of its contents spilled from the rim of his glass onto his hand. He lets out a groan as shakes his hand. “I hope you have some good news to share with us. It’s quite the unlucky month—I’m presuming you’ve heard of that incompetent bastard Seokjin losing the supplier to Mr. Hwan.”

Jongin bows before taking a seat. He can hear the trudges of the combat boots of the two henchmen as they close in on him, as well as the faint moan of poor Kang Seokjin behind the storage doors. The pungent scent of fresh blood in the air is the first thing Jongin noticed when he came inside.

Namil then bangs a fist on the table. Jongin is already used to the heavy sounds coming from his boss that he doesn’t flinch. “Yeesh, we’ve lost sixty million to that saucy, little gnat! Just thinking about it makes my head hurt.” He snaps his fingers impatiently. “You, kid—Kai—just give me something I won’t have to worry about.”

Jongin cranes his neck as he brings out the papers from his suit pocket. He spreads them all over the table and points to the spreadsheets neatly stapled at one end. “Mr. Song Gitae had his Toyota stolen yesterday in front of the function he had attended during dinnertime.”

“And so?”

“The glove compartment contained some of the Im Wongil pharmacy’s classified documents. There’s one that had described all the contract orders coming in and out of the port in Ulsan—in the exact ship Mr. Yoshitaka contact has been smuggling all the chemicals to the country, and at the end of this month they have one shipment that’s heading straight for the lab in Jinju.”

Namil’s eyes turn into slits. “You mean Song’s lab.”

He nods. “The cargo is set to disembark at five-thirty in the morning, and it’ll probably arrive at nine in the latest, assuming there’s no hold-up at the port and they bypass all security—”

“We’re talking about The General, son. He can pull out an elephant from his hat, for all we know.” He strokes his white beard, and then grins widely at Jongin. “How did you steal the car?”

Jongin lets himself smile dimly at the memory. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly say steal. Mr. Song gave me the keys.”

“What did you say?”

“The always give the valet the keys.” Jongin takes out a name badge from his pocket. Glossed with enamel, the words _Jang Yuki_ stylized in bold letters. 

Namil gives him a subtle once-over, his eyes flickering back and forth from the documents to Jongin’s face, before snorting disdainfully. “If only my men used their brain half as much as you do,” he grumbles, scratching at the roundness of his potbelly. “But what is it that you want me to do with this? I understand what you’re getting at, boy, but I’d be remiss to let you near The General again. Do you remember what happened last time?”

Jongin sighs. “It’s unlikely that I would forget. But get this, Chief.” He flips the spreadsheet to the last page, and points to the highlighted cell at the bottom corner. “Mr. Song is eighty million short to secure the lab.”

“What do you mean?” Namil straightens his posture, ears perked up. “Are you saying he’s in debt?”

“Yes. The lab is apparently on the verge of being foreclosed, as well as Im Wongil’s other properties, and this deal with Mr. Yoshitaka is the only thing that could save them from debt—”

“While that is all uhh— _compelling_ , Kai,” Namil interrupts, shaking his head deeply. “I refuse to be manhandled by that former Yakuza again and his big boss. I can hear you suggesting taking over Mr. Song’s business by streaming most of the funds we have for the casino. And can you hear that my answer is no?”

Without even blinking, Jongin returns Namil’s gaze and squares his shoulders. “How about this, Chief? Mr. Yoshitaka has no inkling that Mr. Song’s lab is about to be foreclosed,” he replies emphatically. “I say we head straight for the foundations. Wreck the old, withering one—”

“And build something new,” Namil finishes for him, nodding.

Much to Jongin’s relief, the chief flips through the proposal, and turns it over to him with a wry smile. “You think you can accomplish this on your own?”

_Have you ever even given me a proper team?_ Jongin wryly asks in his head before replying, “I have Sehun. And I won’t disappoint you again.”

“Of course you won’t.” Namil waves off his henchmen guarding the door. “There’s no more room for mistakes for you. You’re Kai. One mistake is your limit.”

Jongin bows. As the doors open and he slides to the corridor, he hears the echo of a scream hollowly in his mind.

 

“A matter of concern has cropped up and I need your opinion.”

Jongdae, a short man of vivacious energy despite the weariness that is his job, laughs with great enthusiasm. “You have to stop making yourself sound like you’re forty, Kai. It’ll never make you less of a kid than you really are.”

Jongin rolls his eyes. He dumps a thick folder filled with paperwork on Jongdae’s cluttered desk. “I’d like to emphasize the humungous gap that is our age, professor. And Chief wants you to look up several of Mr. Yoshitaka’s trips to Jinju. See if there are any irregularities on the time, place, date, anything.”

“That’s strange. I thought Namil had already given up on The General as the supplier. Can I blame you for the sudden change of heart? You seem to be the only one who’s anxious to have him on board.”

“That’s why I’m asking you,” Jongin says. Jongdae points at the empty computer chair, and the younger sits, all the while shifting uncomfortably. “This conversation is in strict confidence?”

He smiles indulgently. “I can assure you.”

“Well, this—this deal will be over a hundred million. It’s going to keep Chief and the casino afloat for more than half a decade or so, right?” Jongin pauses to look at Jongdae meaningfully. “I mean, I want to ask you if it’s enough.”

Jongdae seems to think about it for a second. “If Chief plays his cards right, probably even more than ten years. The casino, as I’ve mentioned before, is good investment. With Mr. Jung’s and Mr. Han’s corporation on a standstill due to the huge drug bust five months ago, we won’t have any competition for a good two years. We have the running advantage, assuming that the latest deal with Mr. Ching would go well.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“You’ve talked a lot about leaving before. Do you still think you’d be able to do it?”

Jongin sighs, looking down. “Honestly, I—I don’t think the other me is dead. He’s not crippled. He’s not staying silent either. He’s still inside of me, professor. When I fall asleep, I dream of his life as if it was someone else’s, and I wake up feeling like a part of me has been taken away. I think this is the only way to stop myself from feeling like this. I haven’t… let go of my other life completely.”

“So,” Jongdae nods. “This is your plan.”

Jongin smiles sheepishly. “Not well-thought out, huh?”

“No, no. Brilliant, like you are, but still laden with some holes. I’m guessing you have Plan B?”

He shakes his head, standing up from his chair. “No, not really. Still working on that part. I’m hoping that the plan won’t blow up on me at the last minute, you know?”

“We all wish that, Kai,” Jongdae tells him, giving him a small wave in goodbye. “And yeah—about that other thing in your plan.”

“What about it?”

The elder purses his lips, eyes up on the ceiling. Jongin thinks that Jongdae at that moment is an image of the scholar he really is, hands neatly folded on his lap as he says his thoughts out loud. “I’m sure that it’ll all end well, but really, how much of love depends on memories?”

Jongin stops. He feels the air go thick around him that he finds it difficult to breathe all of a sudden. “He… he won’t remember me.”

“Kai-yah, do you really believe that? Do you _want_ to? Or does it just make things a lot easier?” Jongdae asks him, his tone soft while his gaze is as hard as iron. 

“It’s hard,” Jongin’s voice shakes. “But he—I owe a lot to him. He’s the only thing that I have left of my other life. I tried but I can’t sever it. Sever him.”

“It’s been eleven years. Don’t you think it’s foolish of you to keep him within arm’s length? Considering how the tides had pushed you guys to two different shores?”

When Jongin doesn’t answer, Jongdae settles with sighing resignedly. He calmly shoots his empty Styrofoam cup to the trash bin and shrugs. He says, “Well, the odds are one in a million. But who knows, that boy might be just as foolish as you.”

 

Jongin runs across the street, spinning and turning through the maze of streets, heading right after five blocks and then going left again. He hopes he’s not too late.

He enters the large yogurt shop, the bells chiming along with the ambient noise. The crisscrossing of people going in and out of the store makes it easier for Jongin to slip in and out undetected, and he orders a blueberry flavored smoothie at the counter before making his way down the usual table seated near the rear. From that vantage point, Jongin can see clearly everyone who comes inside.

He looks at his watch. It’s already six thirty in the evening. Any minute now.

A few, wide-eyed teenagers comes in. Some Jongin recognizes as regulars head to their usual seats, the manager greeting them fondly and asking for their orders himself.

The bell chimes.

“Ahh, Kyungsoo-ssi!”

Jongin ducks his head.

“Doohwan-ssi!” the man greets, bowing slightly. His pale skin shines sickly against his black, cashmere sweater—it makes Jongin’s forehead crease, and he wonders whether Kyungsoo had been eating right these days. “How is your wife?” Jongin hears Kyungsoo ask. “She’s been discharged from the hospital, right?”

“Having a third child is vicious,” the store manager Doohwan claims. “I almost regret impregnating my wife with my demon sperm; her wails in the delivery room will be embedded in my head forever.”

Kyungsoo chuckles, and Jongin’s ears perk up. He can feel his cheeks go warm. “She’s a fighter. I wouldn’t disregard her in the battle just yet.”

From the corner of his eyes, Jongin can see Doohwan scratching the back of his head. “Well, Kyungsoo-ssi. My advice: if you want to keep a steady career, don’t ever get married. It’d only be your undoing.”

Kyungsoo snorts. “Funny. My whole department is suggesting the opposite.”

“See, that’s because those dunderheads in your task force haven’t cottoned up to the big picture,” Doohwan shrugs. “With all the things you’ve been exposed to, you folks have a different conception of marriage—like you’ve all grown past the stage of being wise, just so that you’d keep your humanity intact.” The blender cringes to a stop, and quickly, the boy at the counter hands Kyungsoo his drink. 

“No matter. You’ve always been the strange one, Kyungsoo-ssi. I trust you wouldn’t turn out as miserable as I am in the long run,” the manager titters, and Jongin stifles a laugh by biting on the edge of his straw. He can almost picture Kyungsoo rolling his owlish eyes in mock annoyance.

“I’m all around pleased that you’ve confirmed my social stigma,” Kyungsoo responds flatly. “Thanks for the drink!”

Jongin looks up as soon as he hears boots trudging on the floor, and just in time sees Kyungsoo walking out of the store. He hungrily takes in the plumpness of Kyungsoo’s lips, the redness of Kyungsoo’s nose, the curve of Kyungsoo’s neck. He watches him hunch back again as he walks out of the store and enters the rest of the world. 

With his posture, Do Kyungsoo looks like an ordinary person going out for a walk in the evening, but his right hand betrays him as it constantly brushes against his side. Jongin can tell it’s where Kyungsoo holsters his gun. And there’s also the matter of Kyungsoo’s eyes. Restless, they keep on darting warily, always on the lookout, like its owner is waiting for something bad to leap at him.

Like a routine, Jongin debates with himself whether he’d follow Kyungsoo back to the headquarters or not, and, like always, the righteous side of him always wins. He’s satisfied that Doohwan has managed yet again to make quiet Kyungsoo sputter a word or two, and hands the store manager a tip. Doohwan accepts the five thousand won, confused, but delighted all the same.

It’s nine o’ clock when Jongin arrives home. At the bed, he lies on his back, one arm behind his head. He’s bone-tired from the lack of sleep, but the insomnia creeps up on him tonight, making him feel that rest will once again be light-years away. 

_But really,_ Jongdae’s voice rings too loud in his ears. _How much of love depends on memories?_

Jongin sighs. He wishes that he would remember nothing of his life when he was young, that through the race towards coveting control of the underground drug trade in Seoul, he had crashed into something, cocked his head onto something hard—anything—just so that he’d be the one with no memories at all. And Kyungsoo? Jongin’s sure that he’s the only one backtracking, as the young inspector is set on moving forward in his life.

“I’m an idiot,” Jongin whispers. 

His thoughts drift to the deal with The General, the millions of dollars the signing of the contract entails. 

Jongin rakes in a deep breath. 

It goes without question now that Kai has to succeed.

 

Kim Junmyeon, dressed impeccably in a royal blue suit, stares straight at the images being shown at the projector. To his side is Zhang Yixing, who serves as Junmyeon’s second in command. Along the oval table, the rest of the investigations division waits for the deputy chief to further comment. With the light coming from the screen, Kyungsoo can ascertain that, except for the chief, all the faces inside the meeting room are grim.

“Tell me about Kai,” is what Junmyeon first says. His voice is light and almost conversational, but it does nothing to mask the tense tenor of authority in it.

Minseok, the superintendent of investigations, speaks up. “That’s… sort of hard to answer. Some swear he’s a spy from North Korea, others say he’s a freelance assassin. We have witnesses and prisoners saying that he killed five Chinese nationals who had crossed him, along with thirty other notorious gang members—the body count is so high it’s ridiculous, Chief. This Kai person is an enigma. The only thing the division has gathered is that he’s indisputably part of or in cahoots with the Black Lotus gang, which is vying for control over the drug market. All I can say is that he’s a very dangerous man and as slippery as an eel.”

“Impressive, if that’s all true,” Junmyeon notes with a firm nod. He flips through the papers on his hand and frowns. “I’ve read the report last night. There’s one statement that says Kai’s eyes are—and I quote, ‘scarlet-red as vivid as blood. It could kill you instantly once his gaze meets yours. Do not cross him’.”

Minseok looks down, his cheeks coloring in shame.

“So you have no idea what the man actually looks like?”

“We’re working on it.”

Junmyeon glances back at the powerpoint, and Kyungsoo watches as the chief’s face morphs into an impenetrable mask. Yixing hasn’t said a word throughout the meeting, studying the graphs displayed on the screen.

“Do Kyungsoo-ssi,” Junmyeon speaks finally. Kyungsoo’s spine stiffens instantly at the sound of his name.

Minseok nudges him slightly, and Kyungsoo replies, “Yes?”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven, Chief.”

Junmyeon is still looking at the powerpoint. “It’s been a month since your promotion. How is it?”

“I’ve been working hard, Chief. Thank you.”

“Good. I guess you can afford to bust your back a little harder for this one. Minseok-ssi, hand over this assignment to Mr. Do. I think we need more _youthful vigor_ for this case.”

Before Kyungsoo could argue, Minseok has the sense to clamp a hand on the younger’s wrist. _Let me take care of this._

“Yes, I will.” Minseok bows in agreement. “But what should we do about the embezzlement case with the clothing company—”

“This division has three teams, right?” Junmyeon cuts in, smiling slightly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then pass it on to the other team who has free time on their hands. I hope that’s fair enough.”

No team in investigations has ‘free time on their hands’, but nobody can outflank the deputy chief or has a sound counterargument. Cases go round and round every time in the division, until it’s solved or the trail goes cold. 

Kyungsoo keeps his face rigid, expression inscrutable enough to rival Junmyeon’s. His eyes bore holes at the name on the third report on his desk.  
 _  
Kai._

_Kai, Kai, Kai._

 

Jongin goes down the stairs out of his apartment building when suddenly the hairs behind his neck begin to prickle uncomfortably. The feeling then travels down to his spine, then to his gut.

Immediately, he walks around the block. He stations himself near the rack selling newspapers and tabloids, pretending to flip through some. Automobiles dash hurriedly on the street, and pedestrians snake through as soon as the traffic lights go red. Three young women in high school uniforms walk past him, laughing at some joke Jongin barely hears.

He marks the man wearing a black cap across the road. To any casual observer, it would seem that the person is just window shopping at the ceramic store, but Jongin sees the man’s firm stance. He can decipher that the muscles on his back are coiled and tensed to spring at Jongin at any moment.

Jongin exhales, biting back a curse.

 

“He’s excellent.” 

The General puts down his fork. “How so?”

“Besides breaking and entering and avoiding surveillance,” Yoshitaka Nomura begins. His shirt sleeves are hitched up to his elbow. “Kai seems to know his way around the market, if you know what I mean.”

The General grunts, peering at the slim-faced comrade. He dabs a napkin on the ends of his mouth. “And what about Mr. Song?”

“We’ve backed the wrong horse, sir. Shinhan’s foreclosing Im Wongil in three months,” Yoshitaka reports, handing in an envelope containing all of the company’s intercepts.

“Okay.” The General doesn’t seem to be perturbed at the slightest. “Any sister agencies?”

“None, sir. The Black Lotus is our best bet.”

“I guess it was a mistake to void the deal and cut off the ear of one of Namil’s lapdogs.”

“It was a mistake on my part as well, sir.”

“And Kai sent you this.”

Yoshitaka’s eyes widen. He peers back at the envelope. There’s no return address. “You sound very certain, sir.”

The General lets out a chortle. “The boy smells of subterfuge. Nothing in our database about him?”

“So far the only thing we can pin on him is his association with the Black Lotus, though he’s been with the deflated Daebu. His loyalties are somewhat shaky. There’s a big question mark on his identity, and we still aren’t sure if he’s a big supporter on Namil’s plan to hit a major contractor for his business.”

“Do we have a line on him yet?”

“I’ve dispatched a couple of men to keep him in the grid.”

The General stands up from the dining table and whirls to face the window. The fluorescent lights buzz with static, as it creates an ominous shadow of the two men on the linoleum floor. “He sounds interesting,” he concludes, rubbing the growing stubble on his chin. “He’d probably notice the hounds by now, if he’s really that clever as you say. I hope that you are right, Yoshitaka.”

Yoshitaka eyes the papers with interest. “You wish to use him, sir?”

“That sounds a bit barbaric, don’t you think?” the General says. He grins.

 

He keeps his head down. _Think, Jongin. Think._

He runs. He heads west, directly for the train station. He hurries toward the Euljiro 4-ga entrance, all the while refreshing the application on his phone. He taps the station schedule to check the next train’s arrival. 

The train station is clogged with incoming and outgoing passengers. Jongin leaps three steps at a time and tries to get past them, though hampered by the press of people. He has just under five minutes to get on a train to Sincheon. The Line 2 train to Dongdaemun History and Culture Park has already left, and he takes the stairs again to transfer to Line 5. He’ll have to take the longer route to Dongdaemun and transfer there. He cannot afford to wait three minutes for the next Line 2 train. Three minutes can cost him is life. He needs to get onto the next train.

He taps his T-card on the scanner and sweeps through the crowd that thick and thins erratically as he goes. Jongin slips a little on his footing, a tell-tale sign that fatigue is catching up to him. Jongin forces himself to go on.

He takes the stairs down to the Line 5 platform and spots a vending machine. He taps his T-card again, buying every chocolate bar he can under two minutes.

He spots another man lurking at one of the concrete foundations. Jongin curses. “Who the hell are they?” he utters under his breath.

Thirty seconds. He can hear the chimes announcing the approaching train and the distinct rattling of the rails as the train positions itself to a stop.

Jongin rips the wrapper of the chocolate bar with his teeth and spews the torn edge. He bites off a good quarter of it just as he steps in and joins the tide of passengers.

Just as the doors are closing, a man about a foot taller than Jongin—the man he saw studying the ceramics a while ago—scurries inside the same car Jongin is in.

As he sits on the corner next to a primly-dressed grandmother, Jongin watches the man with the cap make his way towards him from the other end of the car. He fishes another chocolate bar from his pocket and eats it as discreetly as he can. The faster he can get the sugar on his system, the better. Another thing that'll come will be the thirst, but that is a problem he'll worry about later. 

His phone buzzes in his coat.

“Hello?”

"Where the hell are you?" Sehun's voice is frantic. “The deal is in less than an hour!”

“Sehun! Wait—where are _you_?”

“What?”

“Right now. Where are you?”

“I'm in Dongdae area. I picked up your suit—”

“Change of plans,” Jongin interjects. The train lurches to a stop. From the corner of his eye, the Capped Man clasps himself from pole to pile, slowly inching towards where Jongin is sitting. “Listen to me, Sehun. I need you to meet me outside Sindang station Line 2. Exit 5. Ten minutes from now.”

“But the deal—”

“We'll make it in time. Just do as I say.”

Sehun is silent for a moment. “I smell something fishy.”

“We'll talk later,” Jongin assures him. “I have the papers tucked safely inside my coat pocket, don't worry. Just trust me, alright?”

“...Alright. Stay safe, Kai.”

The caress in Sehun's voice is hard not to notice as he utters Jongin's alias. Flushing, he hangs up.

The doors open and Jongin steps outside. Weaving through the throng of people, he heads for the stairs. Jongin assumes that somewhere, Capped Man must be concealing a gun. But the sea of people helps him gain a good distance from Capped Man, and he thanks Monday for bringing in the crowd. He wolfs down another chocolate bar to gather his strength, just in case.

Jongin briskly walks out through Exit 2. 

He has already memorized every nook and cranny in Dongdaemun, and so he heads to the bicycle parking station of a small restaurant. He picks an old, rickety bike that isn't chained. He sticks two fifty thousand won bills in between the straps of the helmet, hangs it on the railing, and mounts the bike. Jongin pedals with as much force as he can.

A couple of blocks later, Jongin sees Sehun's car parked in front of a 7-Eleven not far from Sindang Statio Exit 5, and after a few yards he spots the owner licking on a strawberry ice cream, poised next to a nearby pole.

_It's not over yet,_ Jongin thinks in dismay, as the hairs at the back of his neck stand up again.

“Nice ride,” Sehun hoots half-heartedly. He hands him a Slurpee.

“I'll explain on the way,” Jongin promises as he unlocks the car door. “Let's get out of here first.”

A look of concern crosses the man's face. “Is everything okay, boss?”

Jongin grits his teeth, and Sehun nods in understanding. “Ahh, we're being tailed. Seems like we're popular now these days,” he says with heavy sarcasm. Trust Sehun to find a ray of sunshine in every trouble. “Or at least you are,” he jeers, raising his eyebrows.

“It doesn't matter,” Jongin tries to wave it off and fails, laughing a little. “Drive fast.”

 

There are some basic prints on the wall inside the room of the hotel—it's not a grand, five-star one. Just a regular three-star with a dismal standard of service. At least the couriers are not nosy enough to poke around luggage and butt into other people's business.

Jongin has his hair gelled and slipped on his suit. He and a ruddy-faced man he recognizes as one of Ching’s minions are settled on opposite sides of the round table, sitting cross-legged. Only Sehun stands behind Jongin, while the other is backed up by five other burly men.

“Mr. Ching sends his thanks.” He slips his business card across the table, and Jongin studies it briefly. _Kang Seungsik._ “The mules hadn’t been exactly cooperative, but I am happy that it hasn’t been much of a problem, whereas it would’ve been if we have dealt with someone other than you.”

Jongin smiles the way Kai does. “We deal with only the best.”

Seungsik chuckles appreciatively. “I believe you'd be able to afford our price for our goods. The Black Lotus is famous for its er—salesmen.”

“The price is reasonable for a good stock,” Jongin quips. “It’ll sell like pancakes soon enough.”

The contract signing and the transaction had been swift and silent. As soon as the proper cards are dealt with and swapped over the table, Jongin sighs inwardly. _So far so good._ Seungsik checks the suitcase filled with small diamonds—the only kind of payment Mr. Ching accepts—and closes the lid after examining the stones at random, satisfied.

Then, Sehun clucks his tongue. 

Jongin freezes and turns around. Sehun's face is removed at best, but his eyes are glinting fiercely, sending him a message.

It looks like there won't be time for small talk. Jongin adjusts his lapels and stands up, signaling that the meeting is over. The two men bow at each other and shake hands, and Sehun ushers them outside.

As soon as the door closes, Sehun whispers to Jongin's ear. “Police. The busboy from downstairs beeped me. I've already sent Mr. Kang's men a message.”

“Fuck,” Jongin swears eloquently. “They're getting too smart.”

“We can't take the elevators, and they've probably taken over the stairs.”

Jongin grabs the handles of the suitcases and throws Sehun the car keys. “Let's take the right corridor and take the fire exit at the eight. They probably haven't gotten that far.”

Sehun smiles at him. “The laundry chute?”

Jongin nods, grinning back. They clean the hotel room and hurry out the door. His prediction turns out to be right; the hallways are empty and bleak as they traverse the shadows on the carpeted floor. At the end of it, they climb another flight of stairs to a reinforced metal door.

The small panel can only make way for one person.

Jongin frowns. “Sehun—”

“My limbs are too long,” Sehun reminds him, smile still in place. “You go first.”

“You should get the car ready first. You go—”

“Hey!” The sound of heavy artillery along with the slapping of vests against polyester uniforms is unmistakable. The fear suddenly clutches at Jongin's throat. “You two! Stop right there!”

Sehun then lifts Jongin up by the shoulders, pushing him inside the panel urgently. “Go, Kai! Go! Don’t let them see you!”

“No!” Jongin grips on the edges, letting go of the suitcases in the process. They plunge deep within the chute with a startling sound. “Sehun, you can't—”

A gunshot. With a mighty slap on the back, Sehun pushes Jongin further until the latter tumbles down into the vent. Sehun's sad half smile is the last thing he sees before the darkness invades his eyes.

 

The fall is too short for Jongin to take in what had just happened. He lands on a heap of dirty clothes, ripping open the big, cotton hamper.

Jongin groans. His head pounds dully, and it seems that he has a bruised rib or two. Tenderly, he kicks the outside of the hamper until it finally breaks. The workers stare after him in shock. Jongin smiles at them weakly.

"Nearest exit?" he croaks.

One fellow points him to the direction with a shaking finger. 

Suitcases in hand, Jongin limps towards the backdoor. He pulls back a groan every time he seems to have pulled a muscle but steadies his pace. He exits to a dark alleyway, the asphalt damp from rain, his shoes swishing through puddles.

Jongin grabs the ledge of a chromium ladder on a concrete partition and lifts himself up. With much difficulty, he climbs, the metal railings trembling along as his hands and feet snake upwards to his freedom. He arrives at the top, drops the suitcases to the other side, and places one foot gingerly on the roof of a dumpster.

“Freeze!” Somebody yells at him. Jongin stops in an instant. His other foot slightly scrapes itself on the cement in that moment’s hesitation.

It’s the voice that Jongin had been actively seeking for for eleven years. Even at the ends of the earth, Jongin would recognize it. 

“This is police! Put your hands up in the air!” Kyungsoo orders. To his handheld radio, he says, “Southeast exit. I need three men here, stat. And give me Baekhyun on the line.”

Jongin’s heart thunders on his chest. A small seepage of blood is coloring his trousers.

“I said put your hands up where I can see them!” Kyungsoo barks at his back. Jongin can hear the ringing of police sirens in the air, the buzz of the curious neighborhood folk poking their heads out of the windows. Soon, Jongin would be surrounded.

_I’m sorry_ , he thinks.

Jongin leapfrogs from the top of the divider, positioning his feet to lessen the impact. At that moment, Kyungsoo fires his gun, and the bullet grazes his left calf. Pain explodes from his foot, to his thigh, to the roots of his hair when he lands ungracefully onto the asphalt. He bites back a yelp and flees, pushing forward like the wind. 

He forces himself not to look back.

 

The train jounces and rattles along its rails. Crammed inside with the noisy crowd, Jongin sits among them.

He thinks of Sehun. When it comes to him, all of his professional duty and sense of survival had always been bound to his personal feelings. Jongin had once called him out for it, but the man never flinched. He realizes that it’s the essential part of Sehun that Jongin had always depended on, that thin sliver of humanness that he had clung onto desperately. And today, it is exactly the thing that had ultimately saved him. 

He understands why his friend did it. Sehun likes him, might love him even, and in the face of despair, Jongin hates himself for it. He wishes with all his heart that Sehun had escaped, but the memory of the sound of the gunshot quashes his hopes immediately. 

Jongin feels his eyes prickle with tears, feeling thoroughly shaken. Not only had he discovered some covert organization tailing him, but there’s also the knowledge of Kyungsoo being sent out by the police to capture him. Inside the car of the train, a baby cries, men busy themselves with their smartphones, and women chatter back and forth with equal intensity. Everything and everyone continue on with the burble of the stream, while Jongin remains like a rock, still and alone. He has never felt this sense of being apart from others more clearly than he ever had in his life.

His thoughts drift back to his childhood days, as it always does at times like this. But the happy solace of youth is gone, and the memories are of little service to him now. He misses Uncle, the shaved ice cream he buys for him and Kyungsoo every Friday when he comes home from work. 

He misses playing with Kyungsoo when they were kids, misses talking with Kyungsoo at the dead of the night when he can’t sleep, and he wonders whether this is Kim Jongin bubbling up inside of him. An old, familiar sense of sadness sweeps him as he feels the crushing weight of his old life, alongside the epiphany that he won’t ever get to turn things around even after his job is done. 

By the time the train arrives to Ahyeon station, the city lights are already flickering on against the early spasms of darkness. The streets are starting to clog as people hurry home or enjoy the night life. The pavement has gotten slippery from the drizzle a few moments ago, making all the drunken partygoers walk in eights as they scramble over the sidewalk with dopey grins. Ignoring the throbbing on his left side, Jongin hails a silver Hyundai.

“To the plaza, please,” Jongin requests. He buries his face on his scarf.

 

Kyungsoo presses his forefinger onto a fingerprint reader and is immediately rewarded by the clicking of the locks of the door, not unlike a vault of a bank opening. For some reason, he feels awfully uneasy after the drug bust that was executed hours ago. Given that they’ve caught three men more than the usual average (zero), it seems to Kyungsoo that he’s missing something, something very vital. He can feel it violently poking his gut like a harsh, metal rod, refusing to be ignored.

He finds himself in another corridor surrounded by a soft, buttery glow from the lights above. Around the slick, mahogany table is a set of chairs and a sofa that are cramped next to each other. Baekhyun is playing with a deck of cards, his foot propped up on the table in a picture of ease.

“Stressed?” Baekhyun chirps. His brown-blonde hair has been recently styled into a crew-cut after Minseok had thrown a fit over Baekhyun’s badly permed up-do. Kyungsoo remembers the inspector grumbling over the memo for three weeks straight before consenting.

“Right you are,” Kyungsoo sighs, slumping on the sofa next to him. He blows up his cheeks. “I think Deputy Chief Junmeyon made a grave mistake—I’m not sure if I’m up for this assignment without backup. I need a larger team to respond to this. I even failed to catch a man who was trying to cross the perimeter.”

The other man flicks a spade card at him. “Those bastards are masters of that kind of shit, Kyungsoo, no matter how big the crowd of officers are. So don’t worry about it. They love nothing better than to see us running around in circles, chasing our tails, and when they got us off their butts they’d be swooping in for the picking. That’s why we have to stay alert.”

Kyungsoo nods, as if to himself. “How long have you interrogated him?”

“More than hour. Probably an hour and a half. He’s hard to extract information out of, if I may add. There’s a tattoo on his right arm—some kind of flower, maybe, with three skulls and a snake wrapped around its center. They call themselves the Black Leggings or something.”

“Black Lotus,” Kyungsoo corrects. “It’s one of the largest criminal families in Seoul.” Then suddenly, something dawns on him. “Did you ask him about Kai?”

Baekhyun half-grins, half-grimaces. “We did our best, but I feel it my duty to report that the guy laughed in my face when I asked how Kai looked like. He said, ‘You’ll never catch that motherfucker. I swear you won’t’. He’s pretty cute, I’ll give you that, but that guy’s really off his goddamn rocker.” 

Kyungsoo tucks this information aside. “What’s his name? And what is he to Kai?”

“Oh Sehun. Around twenty-eight or twenty-nine. The other two prisoners said he’s Kai’s primary linebacker.”

_So he’s that important to him, huh,_ Kyungsoo thinks. He remembers the tall, lanky boy with rich brown hair being shoved roughly inside the police cruiser. Oh Sehun’s expression had remained serene all throughout the drive to the district, and it seemed that he won’t back down without a fierce fight if it meant protecting his boss. He had never expected this kind of loyalty.

Kyungsoo frowns to himself. There are all sorts of wrong in the assignment from the start—the ridiculously obvious venue, the lack of assisting operatives despite of the fact that one of the most notorious drug rings is the core of the case—but Kyungsoo believes that they’re barely scratching the surface. What else is he missing?

Having the second-in-command in custody won’t do. Kyungsoo is sure Kai is strutting around somewhere in Seoul, unleashing his arsenal of nefarious deeds that would lead the city to ruins. 

The Black Lotus, that guy who leapt of the hedge. Call him overly righteous, but Kyungsoo hates everyone who thinks that they’re completely above the law, that they think they are perfectly capable to distort peace and order for their own selfish needs.

Damn the SMPA. Kyungsoo is going to catch Kai, even if it means tracking the bastard all by himself.

“Ever gave much thought on ‘good cop versus bad cop’?” he starts after a moment’s thought. 

“Now you’re talking,” Baekhyun woops in delight. He immediately springs up from his seat. “Shall we play, Team Leader Do?”

 

The apartment is on the third floor, down a bleak corridor and surrounded by the silky perfume of air fresheners. The stairs leading up to the room is gracefully tiled, with a fine layer of coating for a slick finish.

Jongin finds the door to the apartment with no trouble. He puts his ear against it, listening for any sort of movement inside. When he hears none, he picks on the lock with the edge of a bobby pin he keeps in his pocket, and turns the doorknob. He gets a whiff of musk as he enters, scrunching his nose in disgust. He has always disliked this particular brand of cologne.

He moves into the living room silently and waits.

 

It was autumn of November 2010. The wind had been exceptionally frigid and frosty, a warning glimpse of one of the harshest winters to ever enter the city. The grimy streets from what used to be Jongin’s stead had been decorated with paper planes that had been shredded to bits by rowdy kids that ran amok. The nearby orphanage had been struggling with the increasing amount of children they had to take in, Jongin had heard. 

He spotted Kyungsoo, wearing a worn-out wool hat up to the lobes of his ears, sweeping the front. He was dumping the yellowing leaves to a trash bag when he finally notices Jongin. Jongin watched him closely, but there was no flicker of emotion that crossed the other’s face.

Kyungsoo eyed Jongin’s tattered jeans, black wifebeater, and beat-up denim jacket. “Who are you?” he asked plainly.

Jongin had been twenty, with Kyungsoo a year older. Was three years really such a long time?

“Stop messing with me, hyung,” Jongin told him, trying for a laugh. He smiled as winningly as he could. “It’s me, your Jongin. How are you?”

Kyungsoo’s lips spread itself over his face into a very thin line, before responding with the longest speech Jongin had ever heard him say, “The Jongin I know wouldn’t leave his family without telling them, then showing up years later looking like a gangster. He wouldn’t be asking me how I am, because that Jongin—that Jongin had always been by our side. He wouldn’t ask because he knows. And that Jongin—if he did leave—wouldn’t expect me to welcome him instantly with open arms.”

Kyungsoo props his broom to the gate and turns his back at Jongin, heading back inside. “No, you are not Jongin. You are not my Jongin,” he said coldly. “So, who the fuck are you?”

 

The lights flicker on.

“You look horrible.”

Jongin watches the short man clutch the side of his trousers in surprise, and he laughs. “Didn’t see me coming, did you?” Jongin teases. “You’re getting a little sloppy for the job, old man.”

The Deputy Chief sighs then scowls at him deeply. He says, “Who is it exactly that I am having the pleasure of seeing? Is it Kim Jongin, or is it Kai?”

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose you didn’t understand,” Junmyeon replies. He extracts himself from his coat and lets it dangle down from the hanger as he takes off his work shoes. “I’m asking whether I’m talking to Kim Jongin, the undercover cop, or Kai, the infamous drug dealer who had murdered thirty men?”

Jongin snaps his mouth to form a derisive snarl. “I’ve never killed anybody. You of all people know that.”

Junmyeon cocks an eyebrow, his expression calm. “So are you going to start now?” he questions. “Did you come here to kill me, Jongin?”

“I thought I’ve told you to keep Kyungsoo out of this! That was our deal. I gave you the exact location and the exact time for the meeting, even got my leg busted for this mission—and I find out you sent Kyungsoo as your hunting dog? To chase after me? Are you insane?”

“It’s all in a day’s work, my friend.”

“Kyungsoo shouldn’t be dragged into this world! That’s why I took this job in the first place!”

“You needed a little push,” Junmyeon states airily. “We obviously don’t have time left. There is going to be a reshuffling at the end of the year. As Deputy Chief, it is my duty to see this operation to the end with great success before that happens. You have failed to pin down The General’s hidden factory and all the other illegal businesses in his corporate web. I will not let that happen again.”

“Don’t wheel me in in your military politics, Junmyeon. That’s your problem,” Jongin counters. A vein pulses on his forehead angrily. “Dismiss Kyungsoo from the case immediately or I won’t help you. And send Sehun back to me. I need him.”

“You know I can’t free him with all the circumstantial evidence pointing against him. You have only your own carelessness to blame. And Senior Inspector Do Kyungsoo has already invested so much time and effort in the case. What a waste it would be to—”

Before he can finish, Jongin has already taken out his loaded Taurus .40 and pointed it to Junmyeon’s forehead. “When Kyungsoo graduated from the academy, you promised you’d keep him safe!” He clicks off the safety from his gun and shouts, “I’ve risked my life for your undercover task force in exchange for his protection, but what are you doing right now? I did all the dirty work for you and this is how you repay me?”

“Ahh,” Junmyeon nods, eyeing the gun calmly. “So I’m talking to Kai after all.”

“I will kill you, Junmyeon. I will kill you if I have to!”

“And turn into a renegade? Will you be willing to trade those five years in the field for that? No, boy. Finish the mission. Get all of The General’s documents in line. Get him to kneel down to justice. This is what you ought to do, and Kyungsoo would do his own job as well. Finish this before the month ends.”

“Chief Junmyeon!” Jongin yells as loud as he could, but is sounds despondent, like a part of him has already given up. The gun is shaking violently in his hand.

“Never forget who you are, who and what you are working for,” Junmyeon tells him. “When you finish this, you will be back to your rightful place in the police. All of the charges against your parents would be cleared, and the whole SMPA would know of your bravery. Kai will be gone forever, and Kim Jongin will be back from the underworld. You’ll be free again.”

The steady stream of hot tears is dripping mutedly against the carpeted floor. Jongin’s desperate panting echoes inside the living room, sounding like the howls of a wounded animal. He hates to be like this in front of the steel-hearted Deputy Chief of Police, hates being exposed to such an unfeeling creature while he breaks down in despair.

The gun drops to the floor. 

“Keep it together, Jongin,” Junmyeon orders. “You’ve accepted to take the grit for the glory—this is what undercover agents are meant to do.”

 

Jongin dreams he is standing at the window of Kyungsoo’s bedroom. There are times he feels ashamed to be having these kind of vivid dreams—how much better is he than a peeping tom? —but tonight he lets himself be indulged, be taken by the false comfort that he’s next to someone he has shared his life with as Kim Jongin, the innocent, wide-eyed dreamer. 

He dreams of the night he was sixteen and Kyungsoo was seventeen. They were talking about the future, and the persons they wanted to be when they grow up. Uncle had given the both of them separate bedrooms, but Jongin had been so accustomed to sleeping together that the old timer had turned the other cheek. It was unusual for teenagers to still like huddling together in a single blanket, but Uncle had been thoroughly convinced that the two were just simply close friends.

“Hey, look, Kyungsoo hyung,” Jongin remembers himself saying, pointing at the stars overhead, shining through the glass window. “The stars are really bright tonight. Maybe it means something.”

“Everything always means something to you,” young Kyungsoo retorted sleepily. His stomach had been full of pork cutlets from that night’s dinner.

“Is it… bad?”

Kyungsoo laughed quietly. He had ruffled Jongin’s hair so tenderly, eyes filled with warmth, that it made something stir deep within him. “No,” he whispered. “I like it.”

“Oh,” Jongin exhaled. Kyungsoo had always answered his questions as short as he possibly could, but to him it’s okay. He’s glad. 

He sidled a little to Kyungsoo, bravely asking, “So, do you like me?”

Kyungsoo had stiffened the slightest for a moment, before leaning in to kiss Jongin’s temple. “Yes.”

Jongin exhaled again. “That’s great.” He wrapped an arm around Kyungsoo’s shoulders, keeping the shorter boy close. “We’ll be together then.”

Kyungsoo relaxed under him. His eyes were already closed, ready for sleep. “Okay,” he said.

It had been easy back then, when all they know was that everything would be okay if they had each other. But the streetlights from the sidewalk across their tiny home had cast long, oblique shadows. It stretched and stretched, until it covered and suffocated what had been the start of a good dream.

Jongin opens his eyes, the bags under it weighing him down. His mind is filled with that singular dream—he can feel his heart both yearning to ache and yearning to heal. The image of him and Kyungsoo cuddled together slowly flares, until it vanishes. 

He thinks of Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo still hates Jongin; he had betrayed him, after all. And now, Kyungsoo probably hates Kai as well. The only contest there would be is which one he will hate the most.

 

Jongdae had suggested meeting Jongin at a local zoo as a place to meet. Once the professor’s car had arrived, they both present their tickets to the saleslady and scan around the vicinity.

“Your problem, Kai, is that you need something stronger to ground you,” Jongdae says. “It’s the backbone of commitment.”

Jongin, who is staring at a bunch of wild beasts frolicking around the muck, shakes his head. “Isn’t Kyungsoo strong enough? I don’t think I need other things. It’ll only give me some self-imposed limit that I can’t afford to have, especially with the deadline Junmyeon gave me.”

Jongdae shrugs. “I don’t know what you went through that made you have this Kai identity, and believe me I don’t even want to know. I honestly think I won’t understand. But it’s clear that it’s a part of you, something innate that you won’t be able to cut yourself from. It’s what sets you apart from the rest of us.”

“Are you saying that I’m very much Kai as much as I am Jongin?” He shudders involuntarily. “Do you mean I’m really Kai—and that Kim Jongin would’ve turned into him no matter what happened?”

“Well, your parents were well-known drug syndicates. Even if they really didn’t bomb a provincial bus and killed hundreds of people, they’re still criminals,” Jongdae explains, looking ahead. “If they hadn’t been imprisoned and had brought you up themselves, then you would’ve ended up as someone equally nefarious, or probably someone scarier.

“And say, if they did get captured, and Kyungsoo-ssi hadn’t found you that day hiding inside his uncle’s truck, would the Kai everybody in this community fears be any different from that person?”

Jongin stops midway in his strolling, listens to the dozens of voices screeching in delight at some monkey performing an exhibition. The idea is all too new to him, and it both settles him and haunts him. Kyungsoo really had been the reason why there is a Kim Jongin, the generator that had hung, flesh out, giving him life—without him, there would only be Kai, and deceit, and murder.

“All I’m trying to say to you is this: it looks like Kyungsoo-ssi is much more than just the center of your story,” Jongdae clears his throat. “Ensuring that his life is well is too weak. Wouldn’t it be nice if you’d come out of the picture with him? Together?”

 

The cemetery stands on the south side Jongno, bounded by the tall, native deciduous trees on the west, and a shallow pool on the east. The regularity of the plots of the graves is somewhat peculiar for the westerners, but it’s the same grassy hillock styled by Korean minimalism. Kyungsoo likes walking around cemeteries, no matter how weird it seems. The soft pruning of twigs against twigs and the cool balm of the breeze on his face soothe him better than any calming tea.

When he’s a few plots closer to his uncle’s grave, Kyungsoo stops dead on his tracks, the basket of chrysanthemums bumping against his knees dully. There’s a man wearing a black polo shirt and grey jeans, his back hunched quite sadly. Kyungsoo thinks of other distant relatives who could’ve remembered his uncle’s death anniversary, but no one comes to mind.

The backside looks familiar, though. Kyungsoo squints his eyes. 

It hits him. _The guy from the hotel!_

Foolishly, Kyungsoo's hand immediately flies to his holster. “Hey! You there—”

The man turns.

When he first sees the familiar combination of dark brown eyes and tan skin, Kyungsoo's knees almost buckle on their own. He watches pink lips curl up into a smirk, heavy, black locks framing the man's face too beautifully.

Kyungsoo's Adam's apple suddenly bobs painfully in his throat. "What are you doing here?" The words tumble out of his mouth quickly, sounding much sharper than he intended, but Jongin doesn't flinch.

"Paying my respects," he says simply. He holds out a single white tulip.

Kyungsoo shakes his head. "Leave."

"Am I not allowed to see Uncle?"

He snorts unkindly and growls, "I never knew you cared so much.” He walks past Jongin, making it a point to bump with the other's shoulder hard in the process.

It seems to strike a nerve. Jongin responds heatedly to Kyungsoo's backlash, "I _did_ care. A lot. You're not the only one Uncle took in, hyung—”

"Don't you fucking call me that," Kyungsoo cuts in. "Everything you're saying right now is disproven by the fact that you ran away when we were seventeen! We needed you that time! Uncle was sick. I couldn't do it alone and you—” He bites furiously at his lower lip, preventing his mouth from hurling every kind of insult he knows. Suddenly, something prickles at the back of Kyungsoo's eyes. He hates it that he automatically gets teary-eyed when he's angry. Almost nobody takes him seriously when he's like this.

“I heard every time a person leaves, it gets easier,” Kyungsoo begins again, trying to reign in on his composure. “So won't you go?”

“Hyung—”

“Explain it to me, then.”

Much to Kyungsoo's surprise, Jongin averts his gaze. He watches the other man inhale, then say, “I had a new lead about my family. If you were in my shoes, wouldn't you do the same?”

Kyungsoo can't speak. Unlike the uncertainty that has constantly loomed on Jongin ever since they were kids, Kyungsoo was sure his parents were dead. A ferry had sunk back when Kyungsoo had been too young to remember, too ignorant to even recognize how important parents really are. 

In the end, he doesn't know whether there's even a right or a wrong answer to Jongin's question. “Weren't we enough, though?” he settles with asking instead, his voice not above a whisper.

Jongin sighs. He takes Kyungsoo's right arm gently. “I'm sorry.”

Kyungsoo can feel his entire body shake. “You should've said something.” 

“I couldn't.”

“Why? If it was your family, I could've helped.”

The hand on Kyungsoo's arm glides south. “You would've come with me,” Jongin tells him. “I couldn't take half of Uncle's family away from him, could I? Come on, hyung. I know I'm an ass, but I'm only half an ass.”

“And you never told us where you were—”

“Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo stops. Jongin's fingers are already snaking around his hand, nudging him to unclench his fist. The younger stares at him for a long moment.

“An _'I miss you'_ would suffice,” Jongin says. “Did you, though? Because I did.”

A whirlwind of emotions knocks the breath out of Kyungsoo as Jongin keeps his gaze locked on him. The blood rushes to his ears. Another ball has lodged itself in his throat, rendering him speechless.

Not knowing what else to do or say, Kyungsoo looks away in frustration, retrieving his hand from Jongin's grip. He aims the heel of his boot on Jongin's shoe and strikes.

 

Jongin mock limps all the way to Kyungsoo’s apartment. He finds it unpleasant but hardly unbearable. He put up with a lot worse than a throbbing foot brought by Kyungsoo’s angry shoe. After all the pain he’d caused, Jongin knows he owes Kyungsoo at least that.

The way inside is guided by plenty of light, entering a newly furnished living room made up of walls that separated the other rooms like office cubicles. Kyungsoo’s laptop is buzzing and running at the coffee table, a couple of work papers filed neatly into a stack beside it.

Kyungsoo is immediately at the kitchen, preparing to brew coffee.

“Don’t you hate coffee?” Jongin points out. He places his parka on the sofa, draping it properly. He remembers Kyungsoo hating it when he just dumps his clothes anywhere when they were young. He eyes the creamer next to the mug. “Especially sweet ones?”

Kyungsoo places the mug on the table with a harsh sound. “It’s not for me,” he replies grudgingly, the tips of his ears blushing.

Jongin nods before placing the rim of the mug to his lips. His eyes widen slightly when the flavor hits the tip of his tongue. The coffee tastes just as he likes.

There isn’t much space even though Kyungsoo lives alone; they’re both forced to share a loveseat deep enough for both of them to curl up on. Kyungsoo pulls a pillow against his chest, an old habit Jongin recognizes when the other is nervous. “What do you do for a living?” he inquires.

Jongin fights back a frown. Trust Kyungsoo to ask the topic he’d been avoiding to talk about all evening. “I deliver… stuff,” he answers.

“Like chicken?” Kyungsoo’s wide lips curve into a small smile easily.

“Yeah,” Jongin lies. “Something like that.”

“You’ve never really outgrown that phase, did you?”

He laughs, sipping his coffee. “What if I say that it’s the same to both of us? Look at you enforcing the law with mighty pride.” He points at the gun lying on the mantelpiece.

“It’s okay,” Kyungsoo blushes. “I just got promoted to Senior Inspector last month, but it’s nothing glamorous. I have to work on a heavy case no one seems to like handling.”

Jongin hums, trying to sound as nonchalant as he can. “What is it all about?”

Kyungsoo hesitates for a moment before answering him. “There’s a high-profile criminal named Kai. He’s part of the Black Lotus, a very large family-run drug ring. Recently we’ve intercepted a deal in Songpa-gu thanks to an anonymous tip, but he escaped,” Kyungsoo narrates. “Right now we’re working on his other deals in the underground market. I recently found out that he’s going to trade this Friday somewhere in Ulsan with a Korean-Japanese supplier, run by a guy going by the strange moniker The General.”

Jongin tries not to flinch. Kyungsoo already knows too much. “Isn’t that very dangerous though?” he questions. “If it makes you uneasy, why don’t you pull back from the mission? You said you’ve only been promoted last month.”

“I don’t know exactly what our deputy is thinking,” the other admits. “But it seems like he wants me to prove myself. Work is work. I can’t complain about it.”

“It’s not that. I’m just worried, hyung. I know you’re made of sterner stuff, but isn’t this mission a bit too dangerous? I heard Ulsan is a big part of the global drug trade; it’ll be extremely difficult.”

Kyungsoo chuckles. “You’ve always acted like it’s your duty to hover over me because I’m shorter and clumsier, just like when we were kids. You know I hate bullies, Jongin, and Kai is one of the biggest bullies in Seoul that we need to take down. And it’s not like I have a choice in this.”

Jongin looks at him in the face for a long time and plucks out the exact thought in his mind. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he says quietly.

The elder sighs, putting a hand briefly on his. “It’s not like I’m going to die,” Kyungsoo assures him, his dark brown eyes shining under the light. “Besides, it’s not your job to protect me.”

This is one of the things why Jongin is drawn to him. Despite his young, innocent face, Kyungsoo is pretty fierce in his own way. But still, now that he’s assigned to apprehend Kai and The General, it doesn’t sweep over the fact that the man will face the biggest hurdle of his life. Jongin isn’t even sure that thick-skinned Kyungsoo will even be able to handle it.

“What are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” Jongin replies. “Nothing.”

Kyungsoo studies him for a moment, before relenting, “Alright.” He rises from his seat. “Blankets are in the closet. Knock if you need something else.”

Jongin nods. “Good night, hyung.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t answer and heads straight to his bedroom.

 

“His real name is Kim Jongin. Son of Kim Yeonwoo and Choi Suji, both local drug traders and leading smugglers in the Koreas port areas. His parents were arrested in August 1993 for bombing a provincial bus headed back to Busan.”

The General nods quietly, his back facing Yoshitaka as he reads off the report. Something about looking at the clear skies ahead from the window helps him to think, he’d once told Yoshitaka.

“Average grades in elementary school and junior high,” Yoshitaka continues. “Dropped out of high school on his second year. Nothing really stellar about this kid.”

“Go on,” he says.

“He’d been living with a family in Mapo in his early years. A man named Do Sangjun and his nephew Do Kyungsoo. The nephew is about the same age as Kai, and a policeman at that. Also, get this: he’s working on Kai’s case. Funny, don’t you think, sir?”

The General doesn’t say anything for a long while that Yoshitaka thought he might have not heard, but then he starts, “Why did Kai run away from the Dos?”

“It doesn’t say, sir. But he left at the same time his caretaker had gotten sick and died of lymphoma, so it might be because he wanted to break away as soon as possible.”

“So the nephew is alone?”

“Yes. Do Kyungsoo’s parents both died in a ferry that sunk years ago.”

Yoshitaka waits patiently for the General to respond. “This has gotten interesting, Yoshitaka. I’m amazed. Given what you’ve just told me,” he says at length. “This Kai person will very well be a serious complication in our cause.”

Yoshitaka agrees. “You’re right, sir.”

“But the question is, how much do we want from Kai? And how much do the police tailing him know? That is what we must find out.”

 

Jongin had been certain he’s tired—he’s sure that as soon as he’d turned off the lights he’d fall asleep, but there’s a buzzing in his ears, causing him to go to a jittery high. Every now and then car lights from the outside snap back and forth on the dark ceiling, bringing in shadows despite the blinds.

In some ways, it makes him want to run to far-off places. There’s that old fear of getting too close to Kyungsoo that it would hurt, but at the same time, knowing that Kyungsoo is just a room away makes the ice on his heart melt away a little. After their brief meeting a few years ago, he’s made a vow to himself to keep his distance. As long as Jongin’s job to capture Yoshitaka and The General isn’t finished, a baggage of sadness and longing will have to stay with him.

His heart is pounding hard that Jongin feels his chest is going to break. 

The longing is too painful to ignore.

The door to Kyungsoo’s bedroom is ajar. Jongin stands up from his sleeping position on the sofa, convincing himself that he’ll just look at Kyungsoo’s sleeping figure for a minute, then he’ll leave and continue on with his mission. _Just one glance,_ he promises himself.

To his surprise, Kyungsoo is still awake. Despite the darkness, Jongin can tell that the other man’s owlish eyes are wide open, looking back at his direction.

Jongin chuckles sadly. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Kyungsoo sits up from his bed and opens the lamp. He’s wearing a black silk bathrobe which does little to hide the creamy skin underneath, only succeeding to make it stand out. He shakes his head in answer.

For a moment, they stare at each other in silence.

“I lied,” Kyungsoo says throatily. “I don’t want you to sleep out there.”

Jongin pauses, then makes his way to where Kyungsoo’s bed is. “I lied too. I’d been thinking whether I could have you all to myself, but I don’t think I would ever get a second chance, do I?” He draws himself closer. 

Kyungsoo shuffles the blanket on his lap. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” Jongin whispers. 

Another moment of silence engulfs them, a slow wind of quietness that is so profound that it seems that they’re the only two people left in the world.

At last, Kyungsoo holds out his hand, and Jongin takes it. He takes Kyungsoo in his arms, running a hand through his thick, black hair. Kyungsoo smells of fresh rain and soap.

Jongin tilts his face, and their lips then move together, slowly, like an ending of a sad song. He places a hand on Kyungsoo’s slender neck, and the wintery skin instantly warms up at his touch. After a long while, Jongin feels the other’s hands wrap around his waist. He lets a finger graze softly on Kyungsoo’s cheek. Kyungsoo shivers, and the tears from his closed eyelids flow.

The belt goes slack, and slowly the robe parts, sliding off Kyungsoo’s shoulders. 

If there’s a way for Jongin to pause and play the song wherever he wanted, he would pause it here, perhaps rewind it a couple of times. If there’s a way he could stop the coda from ever coming, he would. But he can’t.

So Jongin savors the feeling of Kyungsoo’s skin under the tips of his fingers, the taste of Kyungsoo’s lips on his. There’s nothing that he would ever want more but this, there’s no one else in the whole world who he would ever love more than Kyungsoo. It’s selfish, but Jongin hopes it’s enough to leave an imprint of himself on Kyungsoo somewhere. At least he has something to remember him by.

And it’s him this time who holds out his hand. Kyungsoo bravely takes it, and together they quietly tumble down the jungle of sheets.

 

Kyungsoo was right. Now that Jongin’s done it so many times, leaving has become so easy it’s almost a sin.

He wakes up with nothing but his bathrobe neatly folded at the foot of his bed and the pressure of the blanket on his legs. Kyungsoo is not exactly sad—at least, he thinks he’s not. He dresses himself up slowly with work clothes and heads to the kitchen without a word.

He’s surprised to find a plate of pancakes at the center of the dining table, with a note at the side of the plate. Kyungsoo recognizes the black ink of the fountain pen he has laid on top of his papers the a few nights before.

_I might have burnt a couple or two. Sorry, hyung. I love you._

Kyungsoo sighs, trembling. Jongin had never really said those words out loud, but going by the painful wrenching in his gut, it seems to Kyungsoo that he had always known, deep, deep down. And maybe that’s why it hurts.

 

Han River is lined with bicycle paths and a small park, with the perennial tourists flocking the place with their trusty cameras and smartphones. The sky above is adorned with white, puffy cumulus clouds. Jongin chews on an odeng as he traipses around the walkway, humming a tune under his breath. 

His rental Honda is parked directly into the opening to the main street. As he came to cross from the sidewalk, two men sprint toward him out of nowhere. A black sedan screeches to a halt when one makes a grab to his arm his arm, striking him several times about the head. They yank open the rear door to shove him in, but Jongin finds enough strength to resist, and ends up hooking his fist on the guys’ throat.

Suddenly, the car lurches forward. In a split-second decision, Jongin latches himself on the top of the car’s trunk, his legs trailing after him wildly. The car swerves back and forth, the driver desperately trying to dislodge him. It accelerates ever more dangerously as it enters the building traffic on the main road.

The sedan whips itself around a corner and Jongin slides off the trunk, his body now banging harshly against the driver’s side fender. His shoes hit the tarmac with much force that one of them gets ripped off from his foot. Jongin levers his legs back up onto the trunk when the sedan goes relatively steady, ignoring the stab of pain shooting to his heel. His right fist breaks through the panel on the rear window to secure himself. Chips of glass spray across the air, along with drops of blood.

Jongin grips on the panes and pushes himself through the ruined rear window. He lands inside the back seat at once, and locks his crooked arm around the driver’s neck, pulling back hard. As the driver struggles to break free from his chokehold the sedan swings out of control, hitting the left lane and bouncing off the right. The driver continues to struggle until he slowly lost consciousness. Jongin quickly climbs over the seat, pushing the man off to the passenger’s seat. 

“Shit,” Jongin curses. He tries to maneuver the car, but with the man’s feet still planted on the pedals, Jongin can only steer.

There’s the fast wail of sirens. The police are already close.

In desperation, Jongin slams the car into reverse. It shoots backward to another parked car in the process, but the momentum only bucks the back wheels onto the edge of a Kia. 

Jongin groans. He frees himself from the awkward position and checks the driver’s pockets. He can’t find proper identification cards and only sees a few gambling tickets, but then he sees a peculiar-looking tattoo peeking out of the collar. Jongin turns him over and rips off the guy’s shirt. A large, scaly dragon fully covers the man’s back, wrapped around a single cherry blossom in the middle. 

Jongin knows this symbol. The same prickling at the back of his neck is back. “The General,” he mutters under his breath. 

He limps from the wrecked car, willing the door to open his elbow. The police sirens are coming even closer and Jongin can’t think of any place to hide. There’s already a good deal of people flocking towards the supposed car accident, so he uses it as a smokescreen for him to escape the scene and veer towards the dark alley wedged in between two shoe stores.

His heel is flayed and his knuckles and arm are coated with blood.

Jongin has to either climb over the gate or shoot the lock in order to get out. But the burst of adrenaline is almost gone, rendering him unable to do anything more rigorous than limping, and a gunshot will alert the police to his location. He decides it’s less of a risk to climb.

“Freeze!”

The voice pierces through Jongin’s mind. _No._

“Stop right there! This is senior inspector Do Kyungsoo. I’d have to ask you to put your hands where I can see them and turn around.”

Jongin lets out a shaky breath. He finds it both hilarious and cruel that they’re back like this in the same compromising situation, same stance, with Kyungsoo uttering the same words. But unlike last time, there’s no more chance for Jongin to escape his fate.

Shivering in despair and exhaustion, Jongin holds out his hands and turns.

Kyungsoo’s gun is aimed straight to his heart, but it slackens when his eyes came to recognize Jongin’s face. He watches as Kyungsoo inhales sharply, taking in the ball lodged in his throat, the sudden pooling of blood to his cheeks. He watches as Kyungsoo’s eyes snap to the jacket framing Jongin’s upper body—the same jacket that Jongin wore the day of the drug bust. 

Same hair, same build. It doesn’t take long for Kyungsoo to make the connection.

“Kai?” Kyungsoo says, breathless. “You’re Kai?”

Jongin makes a pained expression at hearing his name tumble out of the elder’s lips. With his socked foot, he takes a step forward. “Kyungsoo hyung, I—”

Kyungsoo rapidly aims his gun to Jongin’s chest. “No!” His voice is trembling. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll shoot!”

Torn, Jongin stays rooted where he is and waits for him to make his decision.

Kyungsoo’s whole face is beet red but expressionless, unreadable. His hand tenses around the semi-automatic, as if readying to strike.

He fires.

Jongin had braced himself for the strong stab of pain to come but it doesn’t. He whirls around, and the lock of the gate is now lying on the cement, smoking a little. He turns back and sees just in time for Kyungsoo to crumble on the floor, crying hard.

The first drop of rainfall lands on Jongin’s shoulder.

“Kyungsoo…” Jongin croaks.

“Don’t ever show your face to me again,” Kyungsoo warns, his voice breaking at the end. His face is wet, and Jongin’s not sure if it’s from the raindrops or the tears. “The next time I do, I won’t hesitate to cuff you at the back of a cruiser.”

“… but—“

“ _Go._ ”

Jongin blinks back the water from his eyes, unable to say anything back. The rain is now pouring heavily, and Jongin has already lost count of how many times he had run away from Kyungsoo. Despite his injury and the downpour striking like icicles on his back, it’s still all too easy for Jongin to disappear out of Kyungsoo’s sight.

 

It’s still raining.

Outside, beyond the misplaced bench in front of the store, the fierce droplets can be seen cascading all over the city. Baekhyun is sporting a frown at his friend and senior.

“You have a debriefing tomorrow,” Baekhyun says. “I’m all for fooling around every once in a while—or maybe all the time—but how about if you take a break?”

Kyungsoo, with his soju-clogged brain, doesn’t seem to hear him. “Drink up! Drink up!” he squeals, laughing and hiccupping uncontrollably. He chugs down another shot and exhales exaggeratedly, not caring about the mixture of alcohol and saliva dribbling from the side of his mouth and to his chin. Baekhyun rushes over and dabs a napkin to his companion’s face, wiping it all off. Kyungsoo stares at him uncomprehendingly for a moment before smiling widely at him.

“You’re a good friend,” Kyungsoo chants. “You’re a nice friend. Good friend. Nice friend.”

Baekhyun steels his mouth shut. Something big happened today, he’s sure of it. He feels too awful to even offer some sort of comfort, knowing it was he who had alerted Kyungsoo of another Kai sighting from an unverified anonymous tip. Something bad happened while the unit chased the ring down, and Baekhyun knows it’s his fault.

Kyungsoo is now stacking all the shot glasses into a pyramid, and Baekhyun tries to put them all back together in a neat row before it topples. Kyungsoo is laughing loudly every now and then, but Baekhyun can’t shake off the feeling that it’s a silent cry for help.

Which is strange, Baekhyun thinks, because Kyungsoo had always preferred suffering in silence.

Kyungsoo pours him a drink and says, “I mixed it for you. Drink up, Baekhyun-ah.” He sloppily hands the other a glass, and the malt pours all over Baekhyun’s front. Baekhyun stands up and hisses at the sudden cold oozing from his trousers. The rest of the customers stare at them curiously. 

“I’m sorry!” Kyungsoo exclaims, drunken eyes wide. He bows, swaying back and forth dangerously. “I’m such a bad friend. I’m sorry,” he says. 

“It’s alright. Why don’t you sit down—”

As he grabs a packet of napkins, Kyungsoo trips over the leg of his chair and face-plants on the floor. He hugs Baekhyun’s shoes. “I’m a bad friend,” Kyungsoo mumbles. Tears are leaking out the side of his eyes. “I’m a very bad friend.” 

Baekhyun bites his bottom lip and struggles to help him stand up. “No, you’re not. That’s ridiculous. Come on, Kyungsoo.” He lifts him by the armpits and hauls the fellow policeman outside. Kyungsoo keeps on mumbling something about him being useless and being a bad friend, and Baekhyun watches him in silence as he hails a cab.

A man taps him by the shoulder. His eyes are dark and almond-shaped. His skin is tanned. There are bandages all over his knuckles, and Baekhyun automatically eyes him suspiciously.

He gestures to Kyungsoo drooling on his shoulder and sitting on the porch. “I’ll take him home,” the man says over the sound of the rain. 

“Excuse me, but who are you?” Baekhyun asks warily. 

The man looks at Kyungsoo with mournful eyes. “We used to be friends when we were kids. His uncle Do Sangjin took me in when I lost my parents.”

Baekhyun grunts, pursing his lips.

“I just saw Kyungsoo by the window while I was passing through,” the man explains further. “I have a car. If you need an umbrella, I have one too. It’s in my trunk.”

Realizing that he doesn’t have much of a choice because of the storm, Baekhyun sighs. “The keys to his apartment are inside his coat pocket,” Baekhyun instructs. “Keep him safe.”

The man smiles thinly. “I will.”

 

Without Sehun, Jongin now works alone. Namil had pointedly refused to give him more men, and instructed him to man the embankment located at the southwest of Ulsan’s port area. Jongin rented a room in an apartelle not too far from it, with the two-story building tall enough to get a good visual of the location.

It’s finally Friday. Five hours later, Jongin will be meeting with Yoshitaka and his crew for the delivery. After readying the truck he’ll be using to smuggle the goods to the city, Jongin orders take-out from a restaurant serving excellent Chinese food and pushes past the brass gates next to rows and rows of doorbells. He goes up the stairwell.

The door clicks open. As Jongin steps inside, a blur of movement catches his eye. A man hidden by the bedroom door runs to him, armed by a thick-bladed hunter knife. He aims to jab at Jongin’s right side, but Jongin deftly evades it. He then slams his forehead on the bridge of the man’s nose, and the blood spurts out of his nostrils like an open tap. The man curses in Japanese.

Jongin drives a fist into his side. The Japanese tries to counter with a quick strike at Jongin’s sternum, but he parries it with a jab at the armpit and a kick at the shin, and the knife lands on the tiles. Jongin takes out his gun and slams the butt on the man’s forehead and on the base of his neck. Finally, the Japanese’s eyes roll up and he slumps to the floor.

Jongin puts a hand on the doorknob, trying to catch his breath, when he hears a voice from the bedroom say, “I must say, Kai. I’m thoroughly impressed. He was one of our best combatants.”

He scowls, spitting blood to the side. “That’s very generous of you,” Jongin answers. He walks into the bedroom, into The General sitting idly on a chair next to the nightstand, his legs crossed. Yoshitaka and three armed men are also inside the room. “The welcoming committee is a little bit early. I thought we’d be meeting at three in the afternoon.”

“Did you like my present?”

“What?”

The General smiles at him indulgently. “I heard the SMPA had already sniffed out your den a few weeks ago. I must say the new senior inspector is unusually determined to run you over.”

“That’s enough,” Jongin growls. “This is between the two of us. Stop using him to corner me.”

“How can I when the opportunity presents itself? I know about the Black Lotus’ plans. I know about the million-dollar project: the casino, the infiltration of that weak but deliciously wealthy auto company. I’m not putting you on a pedestal but the truth is Lee Namil wouldn’t be able to conquer even half of the city without you backing him up. I am glad he’s too haughty to realize it.

“Though you’ve exceeded expectations, I’m still a tad disappointed,” The General titters. “I’m sure you would’ve reached to higher heights if you didn’t let the senior inspector maim you.”

At this, Jongin throws himself to The General in fury. Yoshitaka and the others disassemble and simultaneously attack the younger man, punching him and planting the heel of their shoes to Jongin’s side. White lights dance in Jongin’s vision, and blackness start to seep up all around him. It’s as if he’s looking at the only source of light through the other end of a tunnel as the whole ground shakes underneath him. 

“The police are coming any minute now. You’re truck is loaded with all the goods we’ve shipped from Japan. You’re welcome.”

As he feels his consciousness slip from him, he can only see The General, the man he despised most in the world. His dark hair, his porcelain skin, his cruel, round eyes. In the back of his mind, Jongin knows he’s lost now.

“At least you’d be together,” The General says. “Him in his office, you in a cell. Tell Kyungsoo I said hi.”

Jongin blacks out.

 

The room is dank and uncomfortably small. The only source of light is the small crevice in between the foot of the door and the floor. Jongin thinks he hears a mouse squeak somewhere, but he doesn’t have enough energy to look for it. He won’t see it in this blend of darkness anyway. 

In the emptiness, there’s that tiny flicker of peace. Jongin has lost everything, but Kai is done now. Kai is now a hundred-paged paperwork inside a plastic, yellow folder, shoved in a storage box among others of cases stamped red in relief. Kai is a closed case, and most of all Kyungsoo is fine.

Jongin leans his head on the wall and closes his eyes.

 

The door swings open. The light streams into the interior suddenly that it blinds Jongin momentarily, turning his face into the palest shade of yellow. 

“I was in the questioning,” Junmyeon’s voice says, sounding annoyed. “You haven’t told them everything.”

Jongin grips onto the jail bars tightly. “There’s nothing more to say,” he explains. “I’ve failed you. I’m sorry.”

“You _haven’t_ failed.” Junmyeon insists. “You aren’t done. The General is still at large. There is still more you can do—”

“My cover’s been blown. I’ve been captured—”

“You are part of the police, or have you forgotten? I can still convince the board to set you free. Just get yourself back on track and stop him.”

Jongin holds his breath, before arguing, “I can’t do it, Junmyeon. I honestly can’t. I’m okay with rotting in here for a decade, but don’t send me out to that assignment again. Not while Kyungsoo’s working on that case. It’s not something I can handle without messing up.”

“Is protecting Kyungsoo that important?” Junmyeon remarks. “You can’t keep the truth from him forever. You are an undercover agent, Jongin, and you know this.”

As vicious as Junmyeon can be, there’s always that spiteful truth that’s ringing in his words. He knows he’s piecing up everything that’s been shattered, but Jongin can’t allow himself to yield this time. “I’ve already hurt him more than I could ever allow myself to forgive,” Jongin whispers in shame. 

“You’re an undercover agent?” It’s a new voice, dripping like acid. The light filters in and it blinds Jongin again. His pupils adjust to the sudden change, and he sees Kyungsoo standing near the switch, eyes wide open with disbelief. “What did you just say?”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Junmyeon tells them, his tone victorious. He closes the steel door behind him without a sound.

Something in Kyungsoo’s face reaches through Jongin’s ribcage and clenches at his heart, making his thoughts jerk to a halt. “Hyung…”

Kyungsoo lets out a shaky breath. “Tell me everything, Jongin,” he utters, fingers trembling.

“It’s not—it isn’t…” Jongin sighs, not knowing what else to say. “Nothing,” he ends. “It’s nothing.”

Kyungsoo crouches next to him, leaning in to Jongin close. “Lying to me… it’ll take a long time for me to forgive that. But if you’re not going to tell me what’s going on right now, that really is something I will never forgive.” 

“You’d hate me for it,” Jongin says weakly.

Kyungsoo shakes his head, taking his hand in his. He juts out his pinky and encircles it with Jongin’s. “Remember what I told you? I loved you since we were kids. You left me so many times but I still loved you, Jongin, no matter what happened. When I found out you were Kai, my feelings hasn’t changed. It hurts, but it’s the truth. So stop thinking that telling me the truth would make me hate you. Stop doing things that you think would make me hate you. It won’t work,” he tells him quietly. “I’ll still love you all the same.”

Kyungsoo’s hand continues to pull him in, despite the metal bars separating them. His palm is soft and his hair smells like a place that Jongin has been dreaming for a while now.

“You’re making this so hard,” Jongin sighs in defeat.

The older one laughs stiltedly. “Trust me to make it even harder. You owe me.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_The General finds it impossible to stay in one place._

_His nerves are stretched like piano strings, waiting for the breaking point. The brothel is already on the verge of collapse. The megaphones are screeching loudly against his ears._

_The nighttime streets are already blocked, and his men are too dispersed for him to take cover. And there’s Kai, descending from a steel staircase. “It’s over,” his voice booms in the empty hallway. “You’re surrounded.”_

_The General refuses to back down, his desire to protect his empire filling him with inhuman strength. They fight with their knives. The General kicks Kai in the face and swings his knife at his side, almost giving Kai a punctured liver. Kai has backed away in time and retaliates with a jab of a switchblade._

_Suddenly, he kicks The General at his bad leg, and the latter roars like a tiger, dropping his knife. Kai pummels him over and over until The General hits the wall with a loud crash, forcefully extolling the air out of his lungs, leaving him dizzy. His flies flies up reflexively but Kai is ready for it, wrestling him until his spine strike the railing, rendering him too battered to move._

_“I can’t believe I’d be saying this in front of you but,” Kai pants, holding out a badge. “I am police officer Kim Jongin. You’re under arrest, Do Seungsoo, for crimes against the city and its citizens. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, but if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you._

_“Oh right, and Kyungsoo says hello.”_  


 


End file.
